


What Do I Get If I Tell You?

by CaptainWeasley



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Breathplay, Dom!Eames, Dom/sub, Fluff, Happy BDSM, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rope Bondage, sub!Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:42:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27255880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainWeasley/pseuds/CaptainWeasley
Summary: Arthur has been in love with Eames for a while. Of course, he doesn't expect Eames to reciprocate his feelings, but things do take an unexpected turn when he invites Eames over for dinner...
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 150





	What Do I Get If I Tell You?

Arthur's life had been tidy at one point. It had been exactly how he liked it: nothing left to chance, everything planned in advance, with a contingency plan for basically any situation. Then, Mal had jumped out of a window and Cobb had gone on the run and Arthur had felt obliged to take care of him, and his carefully constructed life had fallen to pieces. He didn't resent Cobb for it, although it would have been very easy to do so.

This was one of the reasons why Arthur had been so keen on making sure the inception job was a success. If Cobb could go back to his children, if his name was cleared, there would be no need for Arthur in his life, or at least not to the same degree. Arthur had been looking forward to it: arriving in the States, footloose and fancy-free, checking on the safe houses he hadn't been able to visit in over two years, renewing his fake passports, getting his life back in order.

It had been a very good plan, albeit with one massive flaw: Arthur had neglected to include Eames in his calculations.

So when he arrived at his house in San Francisco, late in the afternoon, his mind wasn't singularly focused on the checklist he had carefully prepared. He keyed the door open before remembering that he'd been wanting to check the lock for signs of tampering, just because he couldn't get Eames' cocky smile out of his head. He rolled his eyes at himself. His infatuation with the man was almost as ridiculous as the forger himself, but it always seemed that the more Arthur tried to fight his crush, the stronger it became. So his new strategy was to just roll his eyes, take a deep breath and concentrate on the task at hand.

The house itself was in good condition: apparently, the little old lady Arthur had hired to keep it clean was reliable. That was something, at least. On his tour through the house, he was distracted by memories of Eames' eyes, Eames' voice, Eames' lips, Eames' hands, Eames' ass and, most prominently, the memory of Eames calling him _darling_. That one always made Arthur shiver, no matter how much he wished it wouldn't affect him. Other memories as well, more vague, dream-images: Eames lying on the floor, looking up at Arthur with a strange kind of sincerity; Eames next to him, shooting projections, _dream a little bigger, darling_...

When he was sure that everything around the house was in good working order, Arthur let himself fall down on the sofa, loosened his tie, closed his eyes and sighed, long and hard. It was bad enough when Eames distracted him from his work on the job, but now he was distracting Arthur without even being physically present, which was definitely a new accomplishment for him. If he knew, he'd be immensely pleased, Arthur thought wryly.

It wasn't like Arthur was expecting anything to happen between them. He wasn't delusional, after all. Eames liked flirting and he liked prodding people's weak spots, and for some reason he had decided that being flirted with was Arthur's weak spot. Not that he was technically wrong, but Arthur would never admit that Eames was the only one who had ever managed to rile Arthur quite like he did.

He massaged his face with one hand. He desperately needed to find himself a new job, something to distract him from all this. Cobb was out of the dreamshare for good, now, and Arthur didn't have many other contacts left: their two years on the run hadn't really allowed for much networking. The contacts that he did have were all rather shady, and Arthur refused to work with some of them on principle. He was be a thief by trade, sure, but he had no intention of becoming a war criminal or worse.

It might be a good idea to call Eames. There was an actual, reasonable justification for calling him. Strictly business related, of course, a chat between co-workers. No other reason to call him at all.

No, Arthur thought. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours. Too soon.

In the end, he spent the rest of the day carefully checking whether there were any traces left that might endanger the secrecy of the inception job (he knew there weren't, he had been thorough during clean-up as always, but going over bank statements, phone records, receipts and browser histories did at least pass the time), then he put on some God-awful Hallmark movie and fell asleep fifteen minutes in. The last thought he had before he sank into his dreamless sleep was that he wished Eames was there with him.

**

"Miss me already, darling?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, despite the warm tingling in his stomach that he couldn't get rid of.

"I need a job. Thought you might know someone who's looking to hire a point man."

"Arthur," Eames sighed, in a way that was rather more dramatic than necessary, "haven't you ever heard of enjoying life? You just made more money than you will ever be able to spend, and your first instinct is trying to find more work?"

Arthur was pretty sure that the strange sounds on the call were birds. Or children, maybe.

"I don't need to justify my way of life to you," he said easily. "Can you think of anyone who might need me or not?"

"Do you speak Korean?"

"Just the basics."

Waves, too, Arthur was pretty sure he could hear waves.

"Might be a problem, that. I heard chatter about a very influential client, goes by Ms Park. She'll probably want someone who speaks the language, though. I'll send you a number."

"Going soft on me, Mr Eames? I thought I would have to deal with at least twice as much ridicule before getting anything out of you."

Arthur could practically hear Eames grinning over the phone.

"Darling, I'm on holiday. I promise I'll put more effort into ridiculing you as soon as I'm back at work."

Arthur couldn't help but grin stupidly at that thought: the idea of working together with Eames again, oh, he wanted that so much. And that other thing too: _ridiculing you_. Those words sent a shiver down his spine. He was glad Eames couldn't see him, his reaction was entirely inappropriate.

"Have fun at the beach, Mr Eames."

"Have fun in San Francisco, darling."

**

If there was one thing that bugged Arthur even more than Eames' constant flirting, it was getting one-upped. And Eames had just royally one-upped him.

Arthur spent the day double-checking his whole house, his phones, his laptops, his passports, his identities, and everything he could think of to try and figure out how on Earth Eames had found out where he was.

He hadn't been followed, his IP addresses were all untraceable, his connections were secure, the identity he had used to buy the property was one hundred percent clean... There was something he must have missed, and Arthur hated nothing more than the knowledge that he had missed something.

He called the number Eames had sent him and was told that they needed someone for the job who was fluent in Korean. All in all, the day was an unmitigated disaster.

**

"Alright, I'll bite," Arthur said dejectedly. He had called Eames against his own better judgement, but not before hacking into the phone company's server and finding out that Eames was, apparently, less than an hour away, near Mile Rock Beach. One-upped again. "How'd you do it?"

"Do what, darling? You're going to have to be a bit more specific."

Arthur rolled his eyes, doing his best to ignore the fact that his cock was twitching. Why exactly he had this reaction to being taunted by Eames was something he'd rather not contemplate.

"How'd you track me?"

"Well, well, wouldn't you like to know."

Arthur opted to put his free hand to his temple instead of his dick. It seemed the more appropriate choice.

"Yes, I would. That's why I'm asking."

"What do I get if I tell you?"

"My sincere gratitude."

Eames laughed, a sound that made Arthur want to curl up against him, to close his arms around him and—he bit his lip. They were colleagues, nothing more. He needed to get a grip.

"You're going to have to come up with something better than that."

"Dinner," Arthur said, before he could think better of it. "At eight. You know where I live."

**

Arthur was nervous. He was usually nervous when he was badly prepared, like today, for instance. Spontaneously inviting guests was something he didn't do on principle, but Eames had a tendency to inspire Arthur to make choices that weren't sensible at all.

At seven pm, the house was spotless, Arthur had double-checked every single room, every corner, meticulously packed all his luggage away. He had set the table with the very fine china he had inherited from his grandmother, complete with candlestick and vase. The flowers he had bought for the evening matched the décor perfectly.

Arthur had also ordered some very expensive food, and even more expensive wine to go with it. He could do basic cooking himself, of course, but he did want to impress Eames. Arthur seriously doubted that his pasta carbonara would be at all impressive.

Half past seven, he took a shower, telling himself that this wasn't because he expected anything to happen between them. He just liked being clean, was all.

The outfit was carefully put together: neither his most formal nor his most expensive suit, this was a casual evening between colleagues, after all, but Arthur did take great care in picking a suit that flattered his body, in a light grey color. He rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, making it look like he just happened to be wearing this at home, but he made sure that the vest was on straight, perfectly in place.

Checking himself in the mirror, he couldn't help but roll his eyes. For a moment, he was sure that Eames would see through all this, Eames had a knack for reading people, after all: that Eames need only glance at him and be struck by the realisation that Arthur had a crush on him. Then, he shook his head at himself. Eames wasn't _psychic_ , was he, and Arthur always wore suits, there was nothing unusual about that at all.

He combed his hair into place, then sat down and nervously waited for the knock on the door.

**

Contrary to Arthur's expectations, Eames wasn't late. He knocked at two past eight. Interesting.

The first thing Arthur thought when he opened the door was that Eames looked relaxed: like he had gotten a good night's sleep and a massive amount of money from a successful inception job. He was wearing a dark purple shirt with a light brown jacket and pants of the same color, no tie. This, unlike the timing, was well within Arthur's expectations.

He grinned at Arthur, and Arthur suddenly felt like his heart was melting. Oh, he was in trouble, alright.

"Good evening, darling. Thank you for the invitation."

"Always a pleasure, Mr Eames."

For a moment, Arthur wondered whether they ought to shake hands, but that was too formal. Hug? No, too familiar.

"May I come in?"

"Yeah—yes, of course."

Eames greeted him with a sort of shoulder-pat, and Arthur stepped aside to let him in.

**

Dinner went off without a hitch—they mostly talked about work, which was easy, since there hadn't been an official debriefing, and they both had a lot to talk about. Arthur told Eames what had happened on his level after the others had gone into Fisher's dream, and Eames filled Arthur in on everything that had happened on the third level.

After dinner, they settled on the couch for drinks. Eames had brought a bottle of whiskey, vintage, worth a fortune, and they toasted to a job well done.

"So, how'd you do it?"

Arthur didn't explain what he meant, but Eames didn't need an explanation.

Instead of answering, Eames took a sip of his whiskey, looking at Arthur intently. Arthur was feeling relaxed and warm from the food and the wine, and that look alone made him shiver. There was a bit of space between them, quite enough that their distance was socially acceptable, but not so much that Arthur wouldn't be able to lean over and capture Eames' plump lips in a kiss...

"Did I ever tell you I started out as a pickpocket?"

Arthur frowned at him, professional habit overriding his more mushy thoughts, thank God.

"That wasn't in your file."

Eames laughed, easily, openly, and seeing him laugh made Arthur _want_ things. Things that were very inappropriate for a working relationship with a colleague.

"I was eleven the last time I was caught, it didn't go on any record, child protection laws and the like, you know. But I used to be a damn good pickpocket. I'm still pretty decent."

He flashed Arthur a grin and held up Arthur's wallet. Arthur stared at it, dumbfounded. He'd had the wallet in the breast pocket of his jacket not an hour ago.

"Put the tracker in there, couple weeks ago," Eames explained, still grinning. "Easiest thing in the world. Doesn't take much to distract you."

"That's because you're not playing fair."

"How exactly am I not playing fair?"

Arthur decided not to answer this question.

"Why would you even want to track me?"

Eames threw him the wallet and Arthur caught it, still glaring at Eames.

"Well, I figured you were probably tracking me, too, so I might as well level the playing field."

Arthur checked his wallet carefully: there, behind the library card he hadn't used in three years, hidden well enough for him not to notice, he found the small device. He knew that this was way too easy: Eames wouldn't give up his secrets so readily if he didn't have any backups. Eames might not be as organized as Arthur, but he rarely did anything without thinking it through. Arthur would have to check all of his stuff and look for more tracking devices. That would take a while.

"Any more surprises among my belongings I should know about?"

Eames flashed him that grin again and the back of Arthur's neck tingled.

"Darling, that one was thanks for dinner. But I'm going to want something else in return for more information."

"Did you have anything specific in mind, or am I supposed to make suggestions?"

They looked into each other's eyes, and there was a moment that felt—Arthur couldn't really describe it. Like Eames was making a decision in this moment, like this was significant.

"Well," Eames began slowly, "as a matter of fact, I did have an idea. Of course, you can refuse—but if you do, I'm not going to tell you a damn thing."

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. This sounded both intriguing and potentially very dangerous, just like all the best jobs.

"Can't refuse until you tell me what you want."

Arthur thought that the air between them was sizzling with tension. However, he might just be imagining this.

"I have a theory about you," Eames said, his tone slow and deliberate. "I think that you think that you want to be in control all the time, and that you live your life accordingly. I also think you're deluding to yourself."

Arthur frowned, not exactly sure where this was supposed to be going.

"I think that deep down, you'd love to relinquish that control, and that that urge terrifies you."

Eames left a pause that was probably supposed to be meaningful. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"You can just tell me that you don't want to share the locations of the other trackers, I'll get over it."

Eames smiled smugly.

"See? Exactly what I mean. You ask a question and demand a straightforward answer, because you can't deal with the uncertainty of not knowing something. Of not being in control of a situation."

Arthur knew that Eames was one hundred percent right on everything he'd said, but he argued anyway, if only to preserve his dignity.

"If that were true, I wouldn't even be able to do my job. As soon as you share another person's dream, you give up control. Dreams are unpredictable by nature, as you very well know."

Eames took another sip of his whiskey.

"Different kind of control," he said easily. "Not what I'm talking about. But you know just as well as I do that you wouldn't be caught dead sharing someone's dream without at least a week of prep, so that actually proves my point."

"What exactly _is_ your point then, pray tell? What do you want?"

Eames' voice was very even when he spoke, but Arthur was sure that for a second, he saw his fingers twitching, as though he were nervous.

"I want you to give me control. Just for an evening. Let me make all the decisions... _All_ of them. You might like it."

If he meant what Arthur thought he meant, then this was like Arthur's most secret, most well-guarded wish come true. No, there was no way—no, impossible.

"What if I don't like it?"

"You tell me to stop, of course. I'm not interested in anything overly complicated, you tell me you don't want to do something, I'll respect that. But if you do, you won't get any information out of me afterwards."

Arthur tried very hard to keep his cool, because this did sound dangerously close to a scene negotiation, and he was sure it couldn't be that. He mustn't get his hopes up.

"Alright, sounds easy enough."

Eames grinned again. There was a hint of surprise there, too, but very well hidden. Like he hadn't expected Arthur to agree so quickly. For a moment, Arthur thought he saw the poker chip flash between Eames' fingers, but then the moment was gone and he thought he might have imagined it. He had always wondered how exactly this particular totem worked.

"Okay, so the rules are simple: this evening, you do everything I say. If you don't, the game is over and I won't tell you anything. You answer all my questions, truthfully, if you don't, game over, yadda yadda. If you are in pain for any reason, you tell me immediately. I have no intention of hurting you."

No matter how he looked at it, this _did_ sound like a scene negotiation. Not a negotiation, really, since Arthur wasn't doing any negotiating, but still, very close. Either Eames was incredibly oblivious or downright devious. Arthur hoped it was the second option. He wished he could use his own totem, but rolling his die was much harder to conceal than whatever Eames did with his poker chip—again, Arthur wondered how exactly it worked. Eames never seemed to actually do anything with it.

The only thing that worried him about the suggested rules was the part about answering questions: he had to be careful not to spill any secrets that were better left unspoken, even if he had to deal with the tracking devices situation as a result. He refused to be compromised over something as banal as that—if push came to shove, he could just buy a second copy of everything he owned and leave the potentially compromised belongings in this house. He had more than enough money now, after all.

Not that he would ever refuse Eames' proposal: Arthur desperately wanted to find out where this would lead, and whether it involved clothes or not.

"Sounds fair," Arthur said, doing his best to keep his voice even. "When do we start?"

Eames looked at him like he was a particularly intriguing piece of art in a museum.

"Right now, darling."

"Wait, can I do something first?"

Eames raised an eyebrow.

"That depends on what it is that you want to do."

"I need to check my totem," Arthur said, never breaking eye-contact. "You said something about answering questions truthfully, and I'm not going to be able to if this might turn out to be an extraction. Trade secrets, you know."

He gave Eames a meaningful look, glad that he had come up with an excuse as good as this. There was a small smile playing about Eames' lips, and he nodded.

"Fine. Go ahead."

Arthur rolled his die three times, just to be sure, but the result was the same each time: this was not a dream. This was weird, awe-inspiring, cruel, wonderful reality.

"Satisfied?" Eames asked casually, and Arthur gave him a nod. "Just for the record, if I were trying to extract something from you, darling, I wouldn't be so bloody obvious about it."

"Noted," Arthur replied, deadpan.

He tucked the die into his pocket again, then looked at Eames, expecting him to start... whatever it was they were about to do. It wasn't necessarily a good idea to look at Eames because it made Arthur's heart beat faster in a dangerous way, in a way that made him soft and caused him to want all sorts of things. Kissing, for example, he couldn't stop thinking about kissing Eames, what it would feel like, how much he wanted to find out—there were butterflies inside his stomach at the mere thought. God, how pathetic.

"Take off your tie."

This request was so unexpected that Arthur thought he might have misheard.

"What, why?"

Eames raised an eyebrow.

"I don't think you quite understand the rules. I tell you what to do, you do it. Next time you question my authority, game over."

Arthur knew he should be annoyed at Eames' cockiness, but he wasn't. In fact, he was very turned on. He tried to think of something that would help him ignore this: remembering the pain of being shot, for example. It didn't work very well.

"Right, sorry."

He took off his tie, then held it in his hand, somewhat bewildered.

"Do you want me to do anything with it?"

Eames looked at him shrewdly.

"If you keep making pointless comments and asking questions, then yes, there's something I could do about that with your tie. I'll give you another chance, though, before taking any drastic measures."

Arthur wondered whether Eames meant what Arthur thought he meant. Maybe he should give him some more lip and find out: after all, Arthur would absolutely love to be gagged.

"Hold out your hands, like this."

Arthur did as instructed, and Eames took the tie from him, then proceeded to bind Arthur's hands together with it. His movements were practiced but gentle, as though he did this every day. Arthur's skin seemed to burn where Eames' fingers touched him.

It felt like Arthur's brain was a little slow in processing these events: was this bondage? Was that what was currently happening? And if so, how the fuck had Eames chosen to start with one of the things Arthur secretly dreamed of, but never had had the courage to ask anyone to do with him?

Eames checked the tightness of the cloth against Arthur's skin.

"Move your fingers. Good. Does this hurt you at all?"

Arthur shook his head, not quite trusting his voice. Eames started tying a complicated-looking knot.

"If you feel like your blood flow's being cut off, or you can't feel your fingers, or if there is any pain, you tell me immediately. Understood?"

Arthur nodded, trying to get his sarcasm back.

"So, are you going to rob me now?"

It didn't come out as suave as he would have liked. Eames laughed.

"Maybe later. Hold this."

He gave Arthur one of the ends of the tie to hold.

"If you need to get free quickly, just pull this end, the knot will come apart. Legitimate reasons only, though. Like, for example if the house is on fire or you're about to have a panic attack."

"You do this often?"

The question was supposed to come out teasing, but there was a certain vulnerability in it, too, that Arthur hadn't intended.

"Not as often as I'd like," Eames replied, and Arthur had the distinct feeling that he had been going for glib, but had also kind of missed the mark. Did this mean...? No, he mustn't fuel his own fantasies.

"This is something you've thought about, though, isn't it?" Eames went on, unconcerned. "Be honest."

Maybe Eames really _was_ psychic. How else would he read Arthur like an open book?

"With you or in general?"

"Don't try to be cute, darling. Answer the question."

Arthur took a breath, feeling like this might be a point of no return. For a moment, he wondered whether he wanted to cross this threshold, or whether he would rather put a stop to all this right now and be nothing more than a colleague to Eames for the rest of his life.

The decision was made suddenly, and wholly.

"Yes."

The smirk on Eames' lips sent a shiver up Arthur's spine. Arthur looked into his eyes, almost like a challenge: he had shown he was willing to play this game, so now it was Eames' turn to up the stakes.

"Ever thought about doing this with me?"

This time, Arthur answered at once. The threshold had been crossed, professionalism was out the window, and now he was desperate to find out what exactly this evening had in store for him.

"Yes."

There was a reaction that Eames didn't quite manage to hide, almost like amazement.

"When was the first time you thought of me?"

Arthur remembered the first time he'd met Eames: rude and full of himself and on his way to becoming the best forger in the business, which made him even more conceited. The attraction had only come later, when he'd gotten to know him better, and learned that underneath that cocky exterior was a sharp wit and a unique sort of gentleness and lots of loyalty.

"After the Freeman job."

"Really, after that shit-show?"

Eames seemed honestly confused, momentarily having lost his smugness. Arthur shrugged. The fact was that after everything had gone wrong with Freeman, that same night he had spent hours lying awake, thinking of Eames—and chiding himself for thinking of Eames.

"Why, though?"

"Do you remember when those guys shot at us? You grabbed me by the arm and pulled me out of their line of sight."

Eames looked at him expectantly, but that was the end of the story.

"That's nothing special. Anyone could have done that," Eames said after a pause.

"No. Most people would have saved their own asses without looking back. We didn't even know each other that well, and you helped me—that's not nothing."

"Never would have taken you for somebody who gets off on danger."

Arthur smiled a little.

"And you would have been right not to. I get off on being safe."

It felt like the temperature in the room suddenly shifted, like it was two degrees warmer. Arthur might be imagining it, but Eames seemed to be blushing slightly. He was very calm when he spoke, though.

"That can be arranged, darling."

Now it was Arthur's turn to blush. Those pesky butterflies were back, fluttering around in his stomach. For a moment Arthur wondered how he was supposed to deal with all of this come the next morning—but that was a problem that future Arthur would have to face: the cold emptiness of loneliness and longing would be so much worse after coming this close to what he wanted most in the world. And yet, he could not bring himself to stop now, too damn desperate to have this, if only for one evening, no matter the consequences.

"Oh, really?" He asked, feigning nonchalance.

"Only if you'd like to, of course," Eames said, also with an air of casual disinterest that Arthur was sure was as fake as the coolness in his own voice. He _was_ a world-class forger, though: Arthur supposed most people wouldn't have been able to tell the difference.

It still felt like they were dancing on the brink of deniability—everything that had been said so far could be explained away as a misunderstanding or a joke, most of it had been vague enough to be easily reinterpreted. Arthur wondered who'd be the first one to push the conversation in the direction of more straightforward communication.

"So, would you like to?"

Arthur looked into his eyes.

"Yes."

"Well, then. Tell me what makes you feel safe."

Oh, Eames was playing this game extremely well—apparently, it was up to Arthur to let go of his smug exterior first and brace the horrible possibility of rejection. For a moment, he was torn—this was something he would not be able to take back. If he trusted Eames now and it turned out to be a mistake... Then again, he was already in too deep, he was sitting there with his hands tied, for crying out loud, he had basically already confessed to fantasizing about Eames.

He took a deep, steadying breath before he answered.

"This isn't a bad start," Arthur said, holding up his bound hands for a few moments. "I like clear rules—rules that can be followed, no tricks, no gotchas. I like knowing what's happening and what I'm supposed to do. I like that honesty thing we're doing right now..."

Arthur felt like these long-kept secrets were flowing out of him, unable to be contained any longer, and he wasn't sure he could stop talking even if he wanted to. There was something freeing about telling another person his fantasies like this, about putting his trust in Eames.

"I like both praise and condescension. Don't know how to define the perfect balance, but I want there to be a balance. I like being talked to in general. And I like not being allowed to talk. But I don't want to be in any situation where I'm unable to ask the other person to stop... Don't know if that's contradictory."

Arthur had narrowly avoided saying _ask you to stop_ and wondered whether he should have taken the risk. Well, it was too late now.

"It's not."

Eames' eyes seemed to be darker than usual, their focus singularly on Arthur. Not for the first time this evening, a shiver ran down Arthur's back, leaving a slight tingling behind. He couldn't help staring at Eames' lips—if he just leaned forward, he could kiss him, it would be so easy, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"What are you thinking about right now?"

Arthur tore his gaze away from Eames' lips to look into his eyes, and once again, the decision to give an honest answer was made in the span of a moment, a moment that felt like an eternity. When he spoke, his voice was almost even.

"Kissing you."

Time seemed to freeze for a second, as they looked at each other, neither of them moving. Then, Eames closed the distance between them and kissed Arthur.

Arthur's brain felt sluggish, unable to quite keep up with current events as they were unfolding, as it all seemed to be a little too much all at once: Eames was kissing him— _Kissing! Him!_ His lips were just as soft as Arthur had always imagined them to be... The butterflies inside his stomach seemed to be caught in a tornado, his skin was too hot and too cold at the same time. He wanted to touch Eames, but had to suddenly and painfully realise that his hands were still bound and as such quite useless. Without even thinking about it, he pulled the end of the tie he was still holding, and the knot came apart just like Eames had promised. It took a moment longer to free his hands, then he grabbed Eames to pull him closer.

When Eames bit his bottom lip, Arthur's cock twitched painfully in his tight pants, and he couldn't help the wanton gasp escaping his lips. Eames kissed him again, harder, more desperately, and Arthur kissed back just as hard, years and years of longing finally finding release.

They broke apart after a while, and Arthur could feel that his hair was a mess where Eames had grabbed it, but he couldn't care less.

"So, do you just want to have sex right now, or do you want to do all those things you were talking about first?"

Arthur looked at Eames, hardly able to believe what he was hearing.

"You'd be fine with not having sex right away?"

Eames laughed a little.

"Would I?" He looked at Arthur like Arthur had just suggested the Earth was flat. "Why do you think I did all those things earlier? Bound your hands because I'm _not_ into bondage? Darling, and here I thought you were intelligent."

"Just checking," Arthur said breathlessly. "Making sure we're on the same page."

Eames looked at him fondly.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're really cute?"

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"When I said praise, I didn't mean being called cute."

"Well, as I recall, you also said something about condescension. Would it make you happier if I said, _oh darling, you're so cute_."

There was a slight sneer in Eames' voice for the last part, which seemed straight out of one of Arthur's fantasies. No, that wasn't entirely accurate. This was way better than the fantasies.

He could feel himself blushing.

"Oh, wow," Eames breathed, voice back to normal. "This is going to be _very_ interesting."

They looked at each other.

"Alright, I have a few questions. And remember, you have to answer honestly." Eames winked at him, making Arthur shudder with anticipation. "Bondage, how far can I take it?"

Arthur suddenly remembered that only ten minutes ago, he had been wary of saying anything too specific. One kiss could really change a whole lot of things.

"As far as you want. But don't do anything that messes with my breathing, please."

"Not into breath play, then?"

"Yeah, I am, but only if you use your hands. No inanimate objects."

Eames grinned like he had just won the lottery.

"Pain something you like?"

"Not really. I'm more into the psychological stuff."

"Me keeping you safe."

"Basically, yeah."

"You're fine with following commands, obviously."

Arthur nodded, even though this hadn't been a question.

"So how are you with punishments? If you don't do what I say?"

"I'll do what you say."

Eames glanced meaningfully at Arthur's unbound hands. The tie was still dangling from one of his arms.

"Apparently not."

"It was an emergency situation."

This made Eames smile: a smile that lit up the room, that seemed to be radiating. His voice was gentle but firm when he spoke.

"My point still stands. Answer the question."

"I don't want to do anything that involves pain. And I—"

Arthur stopped, suddenly choked up with emotion. He hadn't expected this part to be so personal—he tried shaking his head to get rid of the lump in his throat and the tears threatening to form in his eyes. Eames cupped his face with one hand carefully.

"Tell me, darling. I don't want to hurt you."

Arthur looked into his eyes, took a deep breath.

"I don't think I could take rejection during play. Even as punishment. Especially as punishment."

Eames nodded, caressed Arthur's face for a moment longer .

"Thank you for being honest with me, darling. You're doing really well."

These words sent a shiver through Arthur's whole body, and suddenly, the terror he had just felt seemed miles away. He knew that his fear of rejection was something he'd have to confront at some point, but this wasn't the time. No, this was the time to be good and obedient for Eames so he could earn more praise.

"Anything else I should know? Health concerns? Things you'd like me to do but didn't have a chance to mention?"

Arthur had to think for a moment: Did he have any health concerns? His brain was once again singularly focused on the fact that he was apparently about to have sex with the man he had a crush on, and it was hard to recall anything that wasn't related to this topic.

"You have condoms, right?"

"Course."

Arthur nodded, somewhat stupidly, and tried to think of anything else that could be important.

"I was shot, couple of years back, caught a bullet in my left thigh. Injury's healed pretty well, but don't put too much pressure on it if you can help it."

"Noted."

"And you can be rough with me, if you want. You just have to tell me first. Tell me what you're going to do so I have a chance to say no if it's too much. And also because I like hearing that sort of stuff."

Eames grinned easily.

"I'll be talking the whole time, anyway. My last partner actually complained that I was too talkative, but that's their loss. You alright with that?"

Arthur nodded, excitement bubbling inside him.

"Extremely."

Eames laughed.

"Do you have ropes?"

Arthur was about to say no when he remembered that he'd bought some a couple of years ago, and that the only thing they'd been good for since then had been collecting dust in his wardrobe.

"Yeah. Probably still be in the original packaging, though."

There was a look of shock on Eames' face.

"What, really? Dear Lord, and I used to think..."

He didn't finish the sentence, seeming a little troubled all of a sudden.

"Used to think what?"

Eames seemed a little flustered, which was very unusual for him. Arthur was immediately intrigued: what the hell could make him react like this? After a few moments, Eames took a deep breath and his trademark smug expression was firmly back in place.

"Doesn't matter, darling. I'm just glad we're finally doing this. It's about time those ropes were put to good use, I think."

Arthur couldn't agree more. He resolved to find out later what Eames' embarrassment had been about.

**

"So, honorifics, yay or nay?"

Arthur looked at Eames, who was currently lounging on Arthur's queen-sized bed, fully dressed except for his jacket, shoes and socks, checking the quality of the ropes that Arthur had never used.

"Maybe. No military terms, please."

The phrase _Yes, Sir_ had been shouted one too many times before Arthur had ended up in the line of fire, and he guessed that it might be similar for Eames. He continued opening the buttons of his vest: this suit _had_ been expensive and he didn't want the pieces to end up crumpled on the floor. As far as the pants were concerned this was probably a lost cause, but that couldn't be helped.

"Fair point. I do like it when you call me Mr Eames. You alright using that during sex?"

Arthur thought that he had never been more alright with anything. _Alright_ was an understatement. He looked right at Eames.

"Yes, Mr Eames."

Just as he'd hoped, this did get a fascinating reaction out of Eames: his hands froze, still holding the rope, and his eyes snapped up to meet Arthur's, his expression a mixture of surprise and awe.

"Fuck," Eames mumbled, the word barely audible, almost hoarse. For a moment, he seemed unable to say anything else, then he shook his head. "Get rid of that bloody waistcoat and come here."

Grinning, Arthur took off his vest and returned it to the wardrobe, next to the matching jacket, less carefully perhaps than he would normally handle the garment.

When he reached the bed, Eames grabbed him by the lapel of his shirt, pulled him down and kissed him hard. Arthur sighed into his mouth, once again not quite able to believe that this was all really happening, that this wasn't just some incredible dream. It did feel very real, though: Eames gripping his hair with one hand, his tongue exploring Arthur's lips, his warmth radiating into Arthur, his wonderful scent all around him... If this was a dream then it was the best dream Arthur had ever had. And anyway, it couldn't be a dream, he'd checked his totem. And he remembered exactly how they had ended up here.

"There are three things you are allowed to say," Eames whispered against his mouth, breathing hard, "unless I give you explicit instruction to speak freely. Those three things are _Yes, Mr Eames_ , _No, Mr Eames_ , and _Stop, Mr Eames_. You can say that last one at any time, the other two only when spoken to. Do you understand, darling?"

"Yes, Mr Eames."

All the blood in Arthur's body suddenly seemed to be heading to one specific location, and Arthur was feeling a little dizzy. If he'd known that Eames would be willing to let his deepest fantasies come to life, he would definitely have tried to make this happen a lot sooner.

But it didn't matter. They were here now, and that was the important thing.

"Now, before we do anything, take off your bloody socks, please. Otherwise, you're going to look ridiculous later, and that's the last thing I want."

Arthur bit back his sarcastic reply, he wasn't allowed to say anything after all. Eames' command did make sense, though, socks had a definite tendency to be ridiculous, and Arthur followed it at once.

When the socks were gone, Eames gave him another quick kiss.

"Hands behind your back now, darling. Keep them there."

Eames kissed his neck, right below Arthur's right ear, and started to unbutton Arthur's white shirt. His movements were slow and deliberate, taking his time on every button. When Arthur's collarbones were revealed, Eames kissed him there, as well, soft little kisses that lit Arthur's skin on fire.

"I've been wanting to do that," Eames whispered, his voice low and sultry, "ever since I saw you in the rain that day in Venice, do you remember? Your shirt was soaked and I just thought, bloody hell. That man is gorgeous."

Arthur's brain was just capable enough of higher thought processes that it managed to work out that that had been two years ago. Did that mean he could have started having sex with Eames two years ago? Two years wasted... Bloody hell, indeed.

Eames opened another button, kissing and nibbling his way up Arthur's neck again.

"Your skin tastes amazing, darling. Don't know if it's weird to say that, but it's true. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, huh?"

That last one sounded like it might be a joke, but Arthur felt like he was missing the frame of reference to understand the humor in it. But that might just be because Eames was opening the last and lowest button of his shirt right now, his fingers dangerously close to Arthur's cock, and all Arthur could really concentrate on was how badly he wanted to feel those fingers on his dick.

"Would you like me to stay dressed for now, darling?"

Eames' eyes were so blue, but they also weren't, it was weird, sometimes they seemed more green than blue—Arthur couldn't stop staring at them.

"Yes, Mr Eames."

Eames smiled softly, and that smile made the butterflies flutter inside Arthur's stomach again.

"Thought so," he said lightly, "but it never hurts to check."

The shirt was pushed off Arthur's shoulders, and Eames took his time with it, his hands roaming across Arthur's chest—Arthur kept his hands behind his back obediently, but he was yearning to touch Eames in return, to take those wonderful hands into his own and kiss them... He was glad he wasn't allowed, because having the privilege of following Eames' rules was arguably a lot better than just randomly touching his body, but the fantasy still persisted.

"Sit up on your knees. Like that, good. You comfortable?"

"Yes, Mr Eames."

Eames moved a little so he was to Arthur's left, almost behind him. He pulled the shirt off Arthur's arms and tossed it aside, just as carelessly as Arthur had expected. Well, clothes could be pressed and ironed. No need to dwell on it.

"I want to bind your arms together like this," Eames said, arranging Arthur's arms behind his back. "Are you okay with that?"

Arthur's hands were aligned with his arms, so that his left hand was closed around his right forearm and his right hand around his left forearm. The position wasn't exactly relaxing, but it also wasn't painful, and Arthur thought that he would be able to stay that way for a while.

"Yes, Mr Eames."

Eames kissed him, right where his neck met his left shoulder, making Arthur shudder. He could still hardly believe that this was really happening.

Eames took his time binding Arthur's arms together—he was talking all the while, but the words didn't seem very important, and Arthur found himself relaxing into the situation, not really listening to what Eames was actually saying. At regular intervals, he asked whether Arthur was comfortable, whether there was any pain or whether he could still feel his fingers, and Arthur answered those questions appropriately. There seemed to be a light buzz inside his mind, no, not a buzz, more like a blanket that was being wrapped around his brain—he really did truly feel safe with Eames, and it was the best feeling in the world.

When his arms were bound tightly, but not too tightly, Eames moved on to his chest, began weaving the rope into a complicated pattern involving his chest and arms that Arthur was sure looked quite pretty, but it was difficult for him to judge since he couldn't actually see it.

What was most alluring in this whole process wasn't even the wonderful feeling of being restrained, although that was amazing in its own right, as well. No, it was the feeling of being taken care of, slowly, deliberately, gently taken care of, that Arthur hadn't experienced in... He wasn't sure if he had ever experienced it. Not in a sexual way, certainly.

Moreover, the process demanded nothing of him—and even though in his day to day life he could hardly function without a clear purpose or a task or a challenge, suddenly, it felt like a relief to just _be_ , to just give himself over into somebody else's care, to let Eames decide what to do with him, how to use his body.

"You're gorgeous like this," Eames whispered when he tied the final knot together. "Bloody fucking gorgeous, darling."

He kissed Arthur, holding his head with one hand, closing the other around Arthur's throat.

"I'm going to choke you now,"

He gave Arthur a moment, presumably so Arthur could tell him to stop, but nothing was further from Arthur's mind.

When he pressed down, his thumb on one side, his index and middle finger on the other side of Arthur's neck, Arthur's cock twitched almost painfully inside the pants he was still wearing. The sensation was beyond anything Arthur's brain could rationally put into words in that moment: he could feel his lips curving into a wide smile as his eyes fell shut, the butterflies frantically crashing into each other inside his stomach.

It was too much. It wasn't enough. It was wonderful.

"Oh darling, I didn't know it was that easy to make you smile," Eames said with a hint of condescension, relaxing his fingers on Arthur's neck. "I could have handled so many situations _very_ differently if I'd known."

Those words sent a shudder through Arthur's entire body. He couldn't even rationally consider all the implications, his mind was too preoccupied by the immediate pleasure of Eames' touch, but he longed for what those words hinted at: shared nights after difficult jobs, getting to relax into Eames' care, Eames touching the back of his neck innocently during meetings, everyone wondering why that alone would make Arthur smile...

As though Eames had read Arthur's mind, he caressed the back of Arthur's neck for a long moment, then gently pressed his fingers against either side of Arthur's throat again. Arthur's cock twitched.

The thing that got Arthur the most about all this was how vulnerable it forced him to be: it would be so easy for Eames to hurt him, frightfully easy. But Arthur had consciously chosen to trust him, to literally trust him with his life and his safety, in a way he had never dared trust anybody else. And in return, Eames really did make him feel safe. It was an incredible experience.

"God, you're so beautiful," Eames breathed, the condescension now gone. "Wish I could see you like this every day, I really do..."

Arthur wasn't allowed to say anything, but he wished that, too, good Lord, if Eames only knew how much he wanted that.

Eames choked him three or four more times, and by the end of that, Arthur was so desperate for Eames to touch his cock, or to at least take the fucking pants off him that were currently trapping his dick, that he could just barely catch himself before he started begging.

He was breathing hard, mouth open, staring at Eames like nothing else existed in the world—and maybe it didn't, who was Arthur to define what reality truly consisted of? Maybe it had always been just this, all along.

"Tell me what you want, darling."

"Want—want you to touch me, Mr Eames," Arthur panted. "Please..."

Eames grinned, that devilish grin that always meant he was plotting something. It shouldn't have been as big a turn-on as it was.

"Patience is a virtue, darling." Eames ran a hand through Arthur's hair. "We'll get to that, don't you worry. I am absolutely going to touch you, you pretty little thing. But I do think that you should at least get to see yourself before I do. Otherwise, you won't even know what I'm talking about when I tell you how incredibly gorgeous you are tonight. You have to see it with your own two eyes. Where's your nearest mirror, darling?"

Arthur nodded towards the wardrobe.

"Inside, Mr Eames," he said, somewhat nonsensically, but Eames understood.

"Come on, then."

Eames helped him up, which was good because Arthur couldn't use his arms to keep his balance, and also because Arthur was wanton mess, momentarily incapable of using any higher brain functions that weren't related to having sex with Eames.

And yet, they made it, somehow.

Eames opened the wardrobe door, and Arthur saw himself in the mirror like he had never, ever seen himself. The dim, warm light in the room seemed to make his skin glow a little, and his hair was a mess, but in a way that actually looked kind of good. His eyes were dark, even darker than usual, full of desire. The pattern of rope all over his chest was simply fantastic. Eames must have practiced this, many, many times, because the shapes seemed to flow together seamlessly, almost perfectly geometrically accurate, and Arthur suddenly felt like he was a work of art. Like all this was a piece of art that Eames had made out of him, that he had shaped him into, that _belonged_ to him. That thought alone made his cock impossibly harder inside the pants he was still wearing, somehow.

Eames kissed his shoulder, meeting Arthur's eyes in the mirror.

"Tell me what you're thinking, darling."

"Fuck me, Mr Eames," Arthur said at once. "Please."

Eames' laugh was soft and something else, too—it sounded like home. Like Arthur wanted to curl up inside it and live there for the rest of his life.

"How could I ever say no to that? Come on, let's get you back onto the bed."

Later, Arthur couldn't say with any certainty how he managed the walk back. Even though the distance between the wardrobe and the bed barely measured eight feet, it seemed impossible to even concentrate on walking when Eames was about to be fucking him.

There was a moment, right before he got on the bed, where suddenly, everything seemed surreal to Arthur. Like this must be a dream, it must be, it simply _couldn't_ be reality. Then, Eames ran his fingers through Arthur's hair and Arthur realised that no, this was very much happening. They were actually about to be having sex, after years of stolen glances and secret fantasies and the painful, all-consuming yearning.

"Lie on your back, darling."

Arthur followed this command at once, taking care not to put too much weight on his hands, which were still bound behind his back.

"Are you comfortable? Your arms feeling fine?"

Arthur nodded, not quite finding his voice. Eames kissed him gently, then opened Arthur's pants, stroking his dick through the fabric before ridding Arthur of the bothersome garment.

"Remember, you can tell me to stop at any time." Eames' husky tone made Arthur writhe a little—he needed to be fucked so very, very badly. "And you are to tell me _immediately_ if you are in pain. Even if it's just a single one of your fingers, I need you to tell me. Do you understand, darling?"

Arthur nodded, determined to be good and obedient for Eames. All his fingers were feeling fine.

"Yes, Mr Eames."

"Good boy," Eames smiled, making another shiver run through Arthur's body, which Eames apparently didn't miss. "Do you like it when I call you my good boy, darling?"

Arthur bit his lower lip, but after a moment, decided it was too late to start caring about his dignity. Never mind that a part of him was actively rejecting the concept of dignity, was longing to bare his soul to Eames, to show all the deepest, most private parts of his existence, and for Eames to accept him the way he was—to _want_ him the way he was, to _love_ him—

"Yes, Mr Eames."

"I'm learning so many interesting things about you today, darling."

Arthur wanted nothing more than to kiss that smug grin off Eames' face, he loved it so much.

The boxer shorts were done away with quickly, thrown in the same general direction as Arthur's pants, and then Arthur was bare in front of Eames, who was still fully dressed. There was a power imbalance inherent in that which Arthur enjoyed immensely: Eames being able to see him like that, while Arthur was unable to do the same in return, made a shiver run down Arthur's back.

"Darling, you're gorgeous," Eames said with honest admiration.

Arthur couldn't help wondering how many times he'd already used the word _gorgeous_ that day, but somehow, coming from Eames, it didn't even feel like he was repeating himself. On the contrary, it felt like Eames truly meant it, every single time.

"This'll be easier with a pillow," Eames mumbled, and Arthur wasn't sure if he was talking to himself or to Arthur. Not that it mattered, really.

Eames grabbed one of the pillows and instructed Arthur to lift his hips, then arranged it under the small of Arthur's back.

"You comfortable?"

He sounded a little breathless, and Arthur felt that way, too.

"Yes, Mr Eames."

"Can I be honest with you? I've been wanting to blow you. Been fantasizing about it, too, even on the job..."

This was too much for Arthur's brain. It felt like his thought processes short-circuited, resulting in a throaty moan leaving Arthur's mouth.

"Bloody hell, your cock's gorgeous. Don't think I could have actually concentrated on inception if I'd known... So I guess it's a good thing I didn't."

Arthur was incapable of actually following this rather confusing line of reasoning, because Eames was now leaning down to lick up the length of his cock, from the root right to the tip.

"You're not allowed to come, darling," he told Arthur before closing his mouth around him, making Arthur suck in a sharp breath.

Words were failing Arthur, even inside his own mind. The sight of Eames with his lips around Arthur's cock, combined with the feeling of Eames' clever tongue against his sensitive skin was both filthiest heaven and wonderful hell: it was incredible and too much and unbelievable and if Eames hadn't instructed him otherwise, Arthur would have come after half a minute. He was capable of restraining himself, but just barely, straining his whole body to keep himself from coming. He was biting his lip again, the nails of his fingers digging into the skin of his own arms, and Arthur made himself concentrate on this sensation to prolong his own torture. And what a sweet torture that was!

He realised he was moaning, _a lot_ , then decided he didn't care. Even if he'd wanted to, Arthur wasn't sure he could have stopped the sounds tearing from his throat, deep and desperate, desire made audible.

For some reason, Arthur had never really suspected that Eames might be this good at giving blowjobs, he'd always imagined him as more of a lazy partner (not that there was anything wrong with that: after all, Arthur loved to serve), but Eames just kept surprising him time and time again. As a matter of fact, Arthur wasn't sure he'd ever enjoyed a blowjob more in his life.

Just when he thought it was impossible to hold his own pleasure back any longer, Eames stopped.

"Are you close, darling?"

Arthur's nods were frantic.

"Yes," he groaned helplessly, "yes, Mr Eames."

Eames sat up, caressing Arthur's thighs and stomach with gentle fingers, careful not to touch his dick this time.

"Good boy," Eames said with a smile. "You're being so good for me, darling, you're doing really well. Would you like me to fuck you now?"

"Yes, please, please, God, _yes_ , fuck me, please, Mr Eames!"

This was a little more than he was strictly allowed to say, but Arthur was too far gone to care. There was nothing he had ever wanted more in his life.

"Aren't we eager?" That condescending tone was back, and Arthur almost came from that alone. "You're lovely when you're so desperate for my cock, darling. You are, aren't you?"

Arthur nodded, the sounds that were now coming out of his mouth almost like whining, utterly undignified.

Eames took the lube from the night-stand, spread it on his fingers and used his other hand to maneuver Arthur's legs to give himself easy access. He took his time opening Arthur up, which left Arthur in an even more desperate state. Even though the rational part of his brain knew that this shouldn't be rushed and Eames was mostly doing this to avoid injuring Arthur, the baser part of him wanted to scream _Fuck me already, I can take it!_

He kept quiet, though, patiently suffered through the ordeal of having to wait. Eames was watching him, Arthur was just alert enough to notice this, but he was unable to reciprocate: his lids were fluttering, and even when he tried to hold eye-contact with Eames, Eames needed only move his fingers inside Arthur's ass to make Arthur lose focus instantly.

Once again, Arthur felt like he was on display for Eames, like he existed for Eames' enjoyment, and he absolutely loved this feeling of submission, of deference. For the first time in a long time, he truly felt like he was where he was supposed to be, that he had found a way to exist in the world that was as honest, and right, and true to himself, as it was enjoyable.

When Eames started grazing Arthur's prostate with the tips of his fingers, Arthur found himself very close to begging again.

"Tell me how much you want this, darling," Eames instructed, as though he had read Arthur's mind.

"I—I need your cock inside of me," Arthur gasped, desperation making the process of speaking so much more difficult. "Need you to... fuck me, Mr Eames. Please— _please_ —I want to feel you—please..."

There was a slight smile playing about Eames' lips, but this was a smile of affection and wonder rather than of condescension.

"Good boy," Eames whispered, and Arthur heard the hitch in his voice, the hitch that belied his smug, unfazed exterior, that told him that Eames was desperate for this as well, he was just very good at staying in character. That realisation shouldn't have been surprising: after all, acting was how Eames made a living. Nonetheless, it filled Arthur with a strange sort of relief to discover that Eames was indeed as eager to do this as Arthur was—that this wasn't just a game to him.

The butterflies in Arthur's stomach were dancing again, but Arthur didn't have the strength necessary to suppress his love for Eames right now. No, he loved him, he wanted him, he desired him, and right now, in this moment, he _had_ him.

Arthur watched as Eames opened his own pants to free his cock—it looked positively delectable, and Arthur found himself desperately hoping that next time, Eames would make Arthur kneel and take that cock into his mouth.

Right now, though, was not the time for that.

With joyful desperation, Arthur watched Eames roll the condom into place, spread a good amount of lube on his dick, line himself up—a low groan fell from Arthur's lips when Eames pushed into him, and his eyes fell shut again.

Bound as he was, Arthur could only take what Eames gave him, he had no control at all, and the feeling made him dizzy with amazement. Eames set a slow rhythm in the beginning, slow but deep, making Arthur feel the length of his cock as it slid in and out of him languorously.

"You feel so good, darling," Eames said, no longer able to mask the desire in his own voice. "So fucking good, unbelievable, really..."

He grabbed Arthur's hips and fucked him harder, making Arthur groan in pleasure.

Eames kept talking, but Arthur missed some of the specifics—words that came up repeatedly were _beautiful_ and _good_ and _gorgeous_ , so he got the gist—the physical sensations were overwhelming, raw and real, and he let himself be enveloped in lust and pleasure and love.

The sound of Eames' voice made him feel calm despite it all, like Eames was caressing his very soul. Arthur wished he could live in this moment forever: bound and yet free at the same time, desperate and yet calm, yearning and yet satisfied—all contradictions seemed to be possible in this one instant, and Arthur was feeling everything intensely, experienced even the most opposing of emotions in a sort of equilibrium.

Then, the moment was gone when physical reality purged all rational thought, and Arthur was only capable of experiencing the waves of intense sensation with each of Eames' thrusts hitting his prostate, was only capable of feeling the grip of Eames' hands on his hips, almost painful but not quite. Arthur was so close, so close, but Eames had told him not to come and Arthur wanted his permission, wanted to be a good boy for Eames.

"Tell me a secret, darling."

The instruction was unexpected, and Arthur blurted out the first thing that came into his mind, not even thinking about it.

"I love you."

Spoken like it was the simplest thing in the world, like he hadn't spent years worrying about whether and how to say these words.

For a moment, Eames faltered in his rhythm.

"You..." There was something in Eames' voice that Arthur had never heard before, but he was too far gone to analyse what that might be. "Say that again."

"I love you," Arthur repeated, realising how much he enjoyed saying this to Eames. "I've loved you for... such a long time..."

"I love you, too," Eames whispered, "Arthur..."

Arthur realised that this was the first time this evening that Eames had actually used his name. It was weirdly intimate, even though Arthur had heard his own name thousands of times. Nobody had ever said it the way Eames did, though: gently, lovingly, carefully, warmly. Like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Only a second later did he actually understand that Eames had _said it back_. That Eames _loved him_.

Joyous relief washed over Arthur, euphoria of a kind that had nothing at all to do with sex. There was a bright smile on Arthur's face, he could feel it, and his eyes met Eames': they looked at each other in happy amazement, and then, they lost every semblance of a rhythm as they tried to do too many things at once. Arthur tried to sit up and touch Eames, which failed spectacularly for several reasons, most prominent among them the fact that Arthur's arms were bound behind his back. At the same time, Eames tried to lean down to, presumably, kiss Arthur, but lost his balance and could only just catch himself before collapsing on top of him. They both started laughing, then, and Arthur was sure he had never been happier in his entire life.

"Arthur," Eames said, and once he started talking, he couldn't seem to stop. "Fuck, I thought it was just me, if I'd known— _Arthur_ —you're so bloody gorgeous, I love you, love you so much—"

He managed to kiss Arthur, then, kept talking in between kisses.

"When I saw you on that bridge that day... And I kept thinking of you all the time, all the bloody time, it was really annoying... Thought there was no chance in hell, gorgeous guy like you..."

They were finding a new rhythm in this position, slower than before. Arthur could hardly believe what he was hearing: Eames had been worried about not being in Arthur's league? Was he living in some parallel universe?

Eames kissed him again, messily, without finesse, he seemed to be as close to his climax as Arthur.

"I love you, I love you, I want to see you come... Come for me, darling, want you to come—"

This was all it took to take Arthur over the edge, and with a shudder and a moan, he spilled all over his own stomach. Eames followed moments later.

**

The first thing that Eames did after pulling out of Arthur was to untie him. Arthur couldn't help admiring this: his own limbs were about as useful as jelly right now, his whole body completely exhausted from being fucked like that. That Eames had both the strength of mind and the physical ability to take care of Arthur was close to a miracle.

When his arms came free, the first thing Arthur did was touch Eames' face, lightly, carefully—he wanted to feel Eames' skin against his own, and Eames was still wearing his shirt, which was hot but a little unfortunate. They spent a moment just looking at each other, taking it all in. So much had changed between them this evening. The situation might have been overwhelming for Arthur, but he felt safe with Eames, truly, knew that there was no need to be worried.

"Give me a second," Eames mumbled. "I'll get us cleaned up, alright?"

Arthur nodded weakly, hardly able to scrape together a single coherent thought. Eames kissed his forehead, gently, almost carefully, like he was worried that Arthur might break as easily as a cup of china. This mental image made Arthur smile.

**

A little while later, Eames laid down next to Arthur on the bed. He was still wearing his clothes, had even closed his pants, which was a damn shame. However, it wasn't like either one of them was currently in any condition for a second round, in any case.

"Take off your shirt?"

Arthur wasn't capable of phrasing this more elegantly. His brain was still a happy mush, and all he wanted was to curl up in Eames' arms, feel his skin against his own.

"For you, darling? Always."

Eames winked at him and started undoing the buttons of his shirt.

Soon, Arthur was finally lying in Eames arms. His eyes fell shut when Eames pulled the blanket over them, he was warm and exhausted and safe and sated and happy.

**

Arthur woke up a little later, still in the same position. He felt much more alert now, his brain seemed to be actually working again. The butterflies were still there, but different now, somehow—there was no longer any futile yearning against all odds: everything Arthur had never thought possible had actually come to pass. There were still some uncertainties, like what all of this meant for them, but Arthur was rather optimistic about the whole thing. After all, Eames had told him he loved him, and Arthur knew him well enough to be quite certain that he wouldn't use such a phrase lightly.

"Hey, you," he smiled against Eames' shoulder.

"Hey, you," Eames replied cheerfully. "Slept well?"

His teasing tone made Arthur grin.

"Extremely well, thank you very much."

Eames kissed him, and then they were busy kissing for a while. Arthur thought that he wouldn't tire of it easily: it felt so right, so natural, like he should be doing this every day of his life.

Arthur ran his fingers through Eames' hair, curious to touch every part of him, since he hadn't been able to with his hands bound.

With a grin, Eames flipped them so he was on top of Arthur, taking hold of Arthur's wrists and pinning them above his head on the mattress. Just when Arthur wanted to complain that this was highly unfair, and he _needed_ to touch Eames, Eames' expression changed as he saw Arthur's forearms.

"Fuck, Arthur."

Arthur wasn't sure what was going on, so he followed the direction of Eames gaze—both of his arms were marked with four little half-moons in the shape of Arthur's nails. Arthur hadn't even noticed.

"I told you I didn't want you to be in pain."

Arthur shrugged earnestly.

"I wasn't. Just didn't want you to stop."

Eames shook his head affectionately, gently running his fingers over the small marks. Then, he kissed them.

"You could have really hurt yourself. Please don't do that again."

"I'll do my best not to. But I can't promise anything, if you always fuck like that."

This made Eames laugh.

"Careful with the cheek, day's not over yet. I can still gag you."

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"I don't think you understand how threats work, Mr Eames. A punishment is supposed to be something the punishee does _not_ want to happen."

There was a mischievous spark in Eames' eyes.

"You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

"Likewise."

Their lips found each other again, and they kissed unhurriedly. After a while, they were lying in each other's arms again, Eames was drawing nonsense patterns on Arthur's back with his fingertips.

"So, where are those other trackers, then?"

There was a moment of silence, and Arthur got the feeling that he shouldn't have said this—it might make it seem like everything that had happened didn't mean as much. Like it had always been just about those stupid tracking devices all along. But it was too late to take the question back.

Eames stopped caressing him, and moved his head so he could look at Arthur.

"There aren't any."

"What do you mean?"

A blush was rising in Eames' cheeks, but at the same time, he couldn't quite hide his smile.

"It was just the one I already showed you. There were never any others."

Arthur was staring at Eames, mouth agape.

"You filthy liar."

Eames was grinning, but also still blushing. It looked downright adorable.

"I didn't lie to you, actually. Well, only by omission. If you recall, it was _you_ who assumed there must be more trackers in your stuff, and I just... Didn't set the record straight. Had you asked me directly I would have told you the truth."

"How's that fair?"

"Life isn't fair, darling."

Arthur shook his head.

"And you orchestrated that whole thing to... To have sex with me?"

Eames laughed, looking at Arthur in amazement.

"Bloody hell, 'course not! I never would have thought we'd actually end up where we are right now. I just wanted to have an excuse to see you again."

Now, it was Arthur's turn to blush. He took Eames' hand, intertwined their fingers.

"Well, I might be willing to forgive you for lying to me... On one condition."

Eames raised his eyebrows.

"Oh?"

"If you stay the night and we do this again tomorrow, there's a chance I will forgive and forget."

A smile bloomed on Eames' lips, the crinkles around his eyes deepening.

"And in case you don't forgive me tomorrow?"

Arthur returned his smile, butterflies dancing inside his stomach again.

"Then we'll just have to try again two days from now. I don't have a very busy schedule this week."

"That's lucky, neither do I."

Arthur kissed him, kissed him, kissed him, an absurd thought inside his mind: thank God he wasn't fluent in Korean.


End file.
